Chapter 42

GABRIEL

I didn't believe in love. I wasn't arrogantly dismissing its existence; I'd witnessed its power firsthand, seeing it bring the strongest men to their knees. I simply didn't believe it was for me. Love was a weakness, a distraction, a responsibility, a chore.

I loved my parents and grandparents—the way every child loves their providers, for the mediocre comfort they offered. I loved my younger brother, too, out of familiarity, feeling responsible for him.

That's what love had always been to me—familiarity and provision: either being provided for or providing for someone. That's why I avoided relationships. I slept around, but made no promises, and disbelieved any a girl's promises.

Then Lily came. She was pretty—blonde hair, pretty eyes, and a body she worked hard to maintain. I didn't intend to keep her, but she never left. She clung to me, letting me do my own thing, insisting she only wanted friendship.

I didn't do friendships. After my group of friends fell apart, my brother was my only friend until he chose a path I couldn't follow or stop. Feeling like I'd failed him, I found comfort in Lily.

She was familiar. Comfort and familiarity—the two things I associated with love. So I provided for her: fancy dinners, photos, gifts she'd appreciate. She never pushed for more because I didn't know how. I didn't know a relationship could be built on connection because I'd never had one.

I was a lone wolf by choice. I didn't mind Lily. She was nice, despite what my parents and grandparents thought. We lacked passionate feelings, but our arrangement worked perfectly. She allowed my emotional distance as long as I provided for her happiness.

That didn't mean I didn't care. I might not lose sleep over her illness, but I'd shield her from danger. I provided: protection, safety, comfort, money—whatever she needed.

Nearing our three-year mark, I did what was expected. I bought a ring she'd admired at her father's company—unaware it was an emerald, her birthstone. I'm not an art or jewelry connoisseur, despite my mother being a painter. I pretended to appreciate her work, buying pieces I disliked to keep her spirits up.

I was calculative, logical. That's why my grandfather's announcement was a hurdle. He wouldn't let me marry Lily; I had to marry someone else.

A girl I didn't know, a girl I had no interest in knowing. Sofia Baker was ordinary, a misfit in her expensive wedding gown, heavy makeup, and dark hair. I disliked her. I liked providing, but only willingly. She seemed a damsel, holding back tears behind a miserable smile. I wanted her as far away as possible, but then I saw her in her robe, sadness replaced by anger.

She had fight in her. She wasn't a damsel. She was determined, like the freckles on her face—hence her nickname, "Freckles."

I avoided her—business trips, late nights. She crept into my life effortlessly, bonding with my family and playing the role of a devoted wife in public. No one had ever stood up to me like she did.

I was intrigued, frustrated by how easily she replaced Lily in my mind. It was nerve-wracking. My frustration culminated in a kiss in the kitchen.

I thought it would be a one-time thing, but the desire remained. I took the coward's way out—leaving for a trip without telling her. Returning to find her with another man shattered my self-control.

I became a beast. I wanted to kill Arthur for his thoughts about my wife, James for stealing her time. I wanted to possess her completely. Discovering Viktor Hart, her boss—a man seeking revenge—made me realize I wanted to protect more than her body.

I wanted her time, her attention, her past, present, and future. I barely knew her—two months is a short time—but she was the only woman I wanted to know intimately. I lied, omitting Lily, hoping to resolve that before she found out. I manipulated her, taking her to Venice under my grandfather's guise to process my feelings. I betrayed her, making her wear a ring meant for another woman.

I knew my mistakes, but I was new to this. The obsession was terrifying. I tried to label it lust, her just my contract wife, but seeing the hurt in her eyes after Arthur told her the truth, I cracked. I told her everything, realizing my fear was real for her, too.

And still, I let her walk away. I gave her time, hoping she'd return, hoping for the laughter, the smiles, the kindness she'd shown despite my cruelty. I didn't give time to others; they obeyed, or they paid. But I gave it to her.

Letting her go was a mistake. The next morning, her room was empty except for her ring, gleaming on the dark sheets. She had left.